


what are the roots that clutch

by smallandsleepy



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: F/F, Leftist unity, Some angst, some degeneracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23943628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallandsleepy/pseuds/smallandsleepy
Summary: Three times Nazi thinks about fucking Commie and the one time she does.(genderbent)sorry jreg
Relationships: authleft/authright
Comments: 7
Kudos: 69





	what are the roots that clutch

**Author's Note:**

> My previous horny “3+1” genderbent fic was originally supposed to be auth unity before I decided I felt like writing left unity instead. 
> 
> And then today I decided I’d write the auth unity version anyway. 
> 
> CW: a bit of homophobia and antisemitism, and Ancom being misgendered once. (The whole thing is from Nazi’s perspective.)

**Three.**

“Degenerate,” Nazi snarls.

Commie is half a foot taller than her, but Nazi stands her ground and balls her fists at her sides. Commie is flushed with fury, and heat surges through Nazi’s chest and rings in her ears. 

“You communists claim to hate the ruling class but you bootlick every degenerate thing they stand for, you -“ 

Commie seizes her by the collar, hard, stealing the breath from her lungs, and pushes her into the wall. Nazi gasps, unable to help it, as Commie’s dark eyes bore into her like lava. 

“Shut up.” Commie’s voice is low and hard as iron, sending shivers crawling up her spine. “Your philosophy is based on nothing but hatred and idealism. And your time is fucking over.” 

“Let — let me go!” Nazi pants. Her chest feels tight and empty, and she hates how high-pitched her voice has become. She squirms against Commie’s arm but Commie just presses harder against her. 

Commie leans even closer, and her breath is hot against Nazi’s cheek as her hair tickles Nazi’s neck. The heat of her hand burns into Nazi’s skin, and Nazi notices, foolishly, just how full and flushed Commie’s lips look. Her vision melts into a feverish haze as she tries to keep Commie in focus, and her mind swims with a sudden surge - 

Commie releases her. Nazi stumbles against her as she tries to regain her balance, but Commie just pushes her again before marching off and slamming her door behind her. 

(Unable to sleep, Nazi paces around Ancap’s house for what feels like hours, legs leading her round in tight circles. She thinks about how she hates Commie, the fucking arrogant socialist, thinks of the burn of Commie’s iron voice. Commie’s clenched jawline, her biting words, and the strength of her hand as she pressed Nazi into the wall - 

Somehow, it makes her feel so fucking hot, all fucking over.) 

\------------------------

**Two.**

Commie and Ancom, the dirty leftists, are fucking, as usual. Except this time they are in Commie’s room, which is right next to Nazi’s, and Nazi is going insane. 

“Oh yes - don’t stop - please - Commie I want -” 

Ancap’s thin walls do nothing to block out Ancom’s pleading whimpers. Nazi can also catch snatches of Commie’s low voice, muttering indinstinct filth that drifts in and out of earshot. But, wall or otherwise, it’s all pointless anyway -- even when she pulls her pillow over her ears, all it does is kick-start her traitorous imagination, and the tirade of filthy images that presses in on her. 

Commie on top of Ancom. Commie naked, half-lying across the bed, Ancom close in her arms. Commie’s fingers trailing over flushed skin and between shaking thighs, and Ancom’s body twisting to chase her touch, and Commie pulling Ancom up to straddle her lap as she - as she - 

And then Commie’s low voice, breathlessly cutting through it -

“I did not say you could touch yourself, Ancom.” 

Heat tightens in Nazi’s chest and pools between her legs. Ancom’s tortured whine verbalises something that rises in her own chest, and she has to bite her lip to keep down the frustrated groan that threatens to burst out of her. She squeezes her eyes shut but all it does is make the images flood back, faster than ever, those desperate, degenerate things that she never thought would ever - 

“Look at you, Anarkitty. So gorgeous. I - I want to fuck you all the time.” 

Commie’s voice is shaking now, tight around the corners, but the delicious edge to it scrapes against something deep inside Nazi and makes her mind go blank. Her thighs clench, her hips jerk, and it is all she can do to stop herself reaching down and -- 

Nazi wants to cry. She wants to storm in and point a gun at them, or call Ancap’s private police in. She also wants to know what Commie is doing to make Ancom squeal like that, wants to hear Commie moan again, to know how Commie would feel against her, hot and breathless, feel the strength of Commie’s long rough fingers, that fire in her eyes - 

(She gives in and fucks herself to the rhythm of Ancom’s moans. Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, she comes even before Ancom does. 

Then she buries her hands under her pillow, and wonders if they will ever be clean again.) 

\-------------------

**One.**

Nazi has had too much to drink. A voice in her head tells her she should stop, but she can’t give a fuck. Not now. Not when It is one of those nights again, those ghostly ones that crawl under her skin, making her feel like a spectre in her own body. 

On her way back from a counter-rally organisational meeting, she had walked past one of the sprawling, ah, pride events that are taking place recently. Her expectations of this shitty modern existence weren’t high to begin with, but she still feels shocked at how out of hand things have gotten. 

Just the thought of the shitshow makes Nazi queasy. It was organised by them, of course, with a show of floats, sponsorship ads, open displays of degeneracy, and filthy celebrities to indoctrinate children. 

The world moves so quickly it does not feel real anymore.

The door bangs open and Nazi looks up, the world swimming in a plastic haze. Commie storms into the house and flings herself onto the seat opposite Nazi, impatiently adjusting her ushanka. And as Nazi’s eyes focus on her, the haze dims, and the world rights itself, just a little. 

She cracks a smile. “You’re angry about the degenerates too?” 

She doesn’t know why, but the sight of Commie makes the ache in her chest ease, ever so slightly. But then Commie turns toward her and she cannot quite hold her gaze, so she averts Commie’s eyes and takes another drink. 

“They’re not degenerates, Nazi. But they do sure think they’re progressive just because they’re endorsed by some female CEO. And did you know that the speaker they invited was literally a cop?” 

Well, yeah, whatever. Nazi rolls her eyes. The way she sees it, by far the worst is the sheer number of people who turned up in support of the whole exhibit. Nazi shudders. They are taking over. They are taking over. Soon she and her people will have nowhere to go. 

“Commie,” she moans, the whine rises traitorously in her voice. “Stop trying to sympathise with them, then. We’re both their enemies. We -- we both hate it here.” 

Commie just sighs. “But you fascists do it for every wrong reason possible.” 

Her voice, though, is slightly gentler. She does not sound angry anymore, just sad. When she rubs her eyes, Nazi notices that she looks exhausted. 

Nazi’s chest throbs, dull and aching. Her hand floats two inches off the table and towards Commie, before she checks herself and sets it down again. 

“I wish you’d see what’s really wrong with things,” Commie sighs, voice still softer than usual. She surveys Nazi intently for a moment, head tilted to one side, before she stands up and turns away, making to leave. 

Commie stands up and turns away and the emptiness inside Nazi’s chest roars back into full force. That emptiness in her ribcage, wide enough to swallow her whole. That emptiness inside her, needing -- needing to be touched, and filled, and laid to rest - needing - 

"Commie, I -"

Her voice falters, but she wants Commie. Wants her with a sudden, unbidden urge. Wants Commie to touch her, hold her, fill her up, make the world stop spinning. Press her close and ravish her until she cries. Everything feels dizzy and strange, and nobody understands, and Commie is leaving too and Nazi doesn’t know what to do anymore. 

(Commie closes the door behind her. Nazi feels cold as a ghost.) 

\-------------------------

**Zero.**

“Commie, this display of weakness is disgusting.” 

“Stop it, Nazi. Please.” Commie’s voice has lost most of its usual bite. She just sounds hollow again, and something about that makes Nazi’s chest clench, hot and tight. She hates this. Commie is ignoring her gaze and muttering bullshit about her Anarkiddy, and it is all wrong. 

“I can’t believe you’re still sulking about that degenerate!” Nazi cries. “I had respect for you, Commie. I didn’t think you’d -” 

“I told you,” Commie growls, voice hardening, “To shut up.” 

Nazi shivers. Something shifts in the atmosphere, and the air seems to solidify around them.  
Commie is looking up at her now, eyes red-rimmed but alight with the old fire. 

“Yeah?” Nazi continues. It gives her a strange thrill, to have Commie seated right before her, staring up at her. “You shut up first, Commie. Stop whining about Ancom. Maybe then we’d --” 

And then Commie’s arm is around her hip and she is tugged into Commie’s lap. 

Still keeping Nazi in her grip, Commie reaches up and frames Nazi’s face with her other hand. A heady flush rises in Nazi’s cheeks at the touch, and she swallows, voice faltering in her throat. Commie smiles. 

“Yes, Nazi? Tell me what you want,” Her hand slips over Nazi’s hip, and heat spreads over Nazi’s skin and pools between her thighs. Commie, of course. Fuck. She wants Commie. Has always wanted Commie, in those shadowy moments between sleeping and waking, and every time she saw Commie with Ancom. Dreamed and fantasised and begged for Commie and cursed herself about it after every afterward. 

“You want this,” Commie breathes, both a question and a statement. Nazi blushes. Clenching her jaw to avoid making a sound, she looks away and musters the slightest of nods. 

And then Commie drags her hips forward, the friction slow and hot, and Nazi whimpers, unable to help herself. Warmth floods her face as she grinds into Commie’s lap, thighs clenching around Commie’s waist and back arching into the heat of Commie’s hands. She tries to focus her eyes on a point somewhere above Commie’s head, but Commie just tugs her head down and presses their mouths together.

The kiss is wet and filthy and Commie bites into her lip, the sensation sending a delicious burn all over her skin. Commie pushes her skirt up and presses her fingers between her legs, rubbing her in quick, desperate circles, and she has to break the kiss and bury her face in Commie’s neck to muffle the moans that rise in her chest. She jerks her hips desperately against Commie, legs trembling, and she is so close already and Commie has not even properly touched her yet. 

“God, you’re repressed.” Commie’s laughter is a low vibration against her lips. “Let me hear you, Nazi. Show me how much you want me.” 

“C-Commie,” she pleads, panting into Commie’s mouth. Her voice is high-pitched and far too desperate. “I - I - I want -” 

And then Commie slides her hands all over her body and finally, finally thrusts her fingers inside her, and Nazi’s fucking vision goes white. She claws at Commie’s hair, her back, and rocks herself onto her fingers to chase the delicious heat that builds between her thighs. 

She comes embarrassingly quickly, whining pathetically against the hot skin of Commie’s neck. She whimpers, oversensitised, slumping into Commie’s arms when Commie slowly pulls her fingers out of her. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears, and she wonders why she feels like she might cry. She thinks that she wants to stay like this, pressed into the heat of Commie’s body and Commie’s hands, for a long, long time. 

Commie pushes the hair out of her face, frames her jaw between her fingers, and angles her face until they are looking into each other’s eyes. “Still hate my degeneracy?” 

Nazi looks away and presses her face into Commie’s hair. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Commie kisses her again, rough and deep, before gently pushing her off her lap. 

“Neither do I.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue how to write Nazi and I hope that didn’t turn out too bad. If anyone has ideas for future fics please hmu!! I’m on reddit too @ u/prelude146 
> 
> Also if you’re reading this @spacetrash_uwu rightists listening to commie and ancom have sex is canon :”)


End file.
